


you got blood on your face

by sleepydeaky



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Vampires, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepydeaky/pseuds/sleepydeaky
Summary: ‘It should have been mine,’ Roger spits, his fangs extending passed his rosy lips like two pearls. ‘You took it from me. I deserved to be head of the council! It’s all I’ve ever worked for and you just… stole it from me.’**Intimacy between two Vampires is impossible but John and Roger try to make it work.
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	you got blood on your face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thenightdreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thenightdreams/gifts).



> ive been watching too much young dracula

The meeting is finally over and John leaves as quickly as he can, shoving a hand awkwardly into the back pocket of his jeans. He can feel the weight of each one of the gathered hundred’s gaze burning into his skin as if he’s just stepped outside into the midday sun as he heads out into the night, the thoughts raging in his mind. 

But none of it matters anymore. The decision is made and there’s nothing that John can do about it.

He’d never wanted to claim the throne, all John had ever wanted was to lead a perfectly ordinary life - to make music and tinker with electronics, maybe even go to University with the humans one day, if he could keep his cravings under control for long enough. 

The Universe evidently had a different plan for him, though. Chosen One’s felt like they belonged in human books and movies and yet somehow some old crumbling dust bags had decided that John was one?

_Chosen to lead the Vampiric people into a new age._

John clenches his eyes closed as if he can shut off the memory. The thought persists, not that easily dismissed, so John springs onto the balls of his feet, rolling into the momentum as his body stretches and shrinks and changes until he’s a bat flying through the night. 

It feels good to be in this form, as loathe as John is to enjoy any of his Vampiric powers. Like this, he can simply exist without worries or cares, the night air cool on his back. He glances down at the lights below, unable to comprehend them in this form but instead just enjoying the sight without any deeper thoughts about it.

All too soon, though, John is back at his hotel room, squeezing through the window he’d left open just for this purpose. The transformation back to his humanoid form is easy enough, a single fully-fledged thought in that direction - like the stretching of a muscle - and John is changing back seamlessly until his feet hit the shabby hotel carpet. John has heard that for others this changing between one form and another is painful, from the guttural groans of werewolves beneath the full moon, but for vampires it is natural and he has just a slight tingling in his fingertips.

John is so wrapped up in his thoughts - about transformation and the council meeting - that he doesn’t notice that he has an uninvited visitor until they speak. 

‘Hello John,’ Roger says, from where he’s reclining in the shabby hotel armchair beside John’s bed. He’s wearing boots, long shiny black leather things that hug Roger’s slim calves John realises dimly, swallowing as Roger swings his slender legs down from where they’d been hooked over the arm of the chair. Roger had wasted no time in making himself at home, it seemed. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

It’s not exactly difficult to work out why Roger might be here, no John knows exactly. Roger, as John’s rival for the seat on the Vampiric council as it’s head, would not be pleased to be passed over - Roger was trying to intimidate him, to take out his frustrations on John as if it was his fault. Even if John doesn’t agree with the council's verdict it had shown one thing that even he could admit - John was more powerful and that was how they had known that he was blessed, chosen above all others.

John swallows around the lump in his throat. Maybe Roger’s tactic is working, after all.

‘What are you doing here, Rog?’ He asks, voice shaky, even though he knows the exact reason why Roger would be here in John’s hotel room in Transylvania just after a meeting of the Vampiric Council. 

Maybe Roger knows that he knows as well and John hasn’t done as good a job of playing dumb as he’d thought because Roger laughs and says, ‘Oh just thought I’d pop round for tea. Us Brits have to stick together, Deaky.’ 

But then it seems like Roger has used up all of his thinly veiled pleasantness. He’s always been quick to anger but John has avoided being on the receiving end of it before. Roger gets up in one swift moment, a flash of movement before John’s eyes before they’re pressed chest to chest. John feels a little rush of smugness that Roger is a little shorter than him, Roger having to tilt his head back just slightly to look up into John’s face.

‘It should have been mine,’ Roger spits, his fangs extending passed his rosy lips like two pearls. ‘You took it from me. I deserved to be head of the council! It’s all I’ve ever worked for and you just… stole it from me.’

‘It’s not,’ John stutters, before pausing, trying to get himself under control. It’s only Roger, after all, they’ve known each other so long. Before this Head of the Vampiric council, Chosen One shit had driven a stake between them they’d been… well, they’d be close. John would blush and his heart would stutter if he wasn’t cold and dead, with no working circulatory system to speak of. Not anymore. 

But he knew that Roger was harmless. So why was John so scared?

‘It’s not what I want Roger, you know that. I would never steal this from you, I know how much it means to you,’ he closes his eyes for a moment, faltering as his body aches with phantom pain. ‘It’s not my fault. I didn’t want to be born this way… as some kind of Chosen One. How am I supposed to lead the Vampires to new glory? I just want to muck about making songs and fiddling with electronics, start a repair shop maybe. My favourite food is soy blood and cheese on toast. I don’t exactly think I’m a great candidate, I never wanted to be a vampire anyway. I’m just… ordinary.’ 

It feels good to say it, the secret weight he’s carried for so long. Most vampires looked down on humans as mere food and a quick fuck if the human was up for it, stupid and weak, but John had always been secretly envious. Going to university and getting a 9-5 job and starting a family, John could never have that life. 

But John doesn’t have too long to wallow in self-pity, Roger is forcibly wrenching him out of his thoughts as Roger presses even closer to him. Their chests are touching and John can feel the chill of Roger’s skin bleeding through the skirt that he’s wearing, watching the bob of Roger’s throat as Roger’s hands twist into the fabric of John’s sweater. If he was alive, John’s pretty sure that his heart would be pounding and he screws his eyes tightly shut, his lips drawing back on their own as if by instinct to bare his fangs at Roger. And yet John can’t do any more than that, remaining submissive as all he can think about is how Roger’s slender hands are going to stretch out his sweater.

‘You can’t even fight back can you?’ Roger says, a note of humour in his voice. John’s eyes open for a moment, just to see Roger above him smirking like he finds this whole thing hilarious. 

‘I don’t want to,’ he replies, stubbornly setting his jaw. Everything down to John’s bones is telling him to stand his ground. The air around them is thick with both their scents, subtle spices that are hard to detect but there nonetheless, and John’s skin feels like it’s too tightly stretched across his bones, his body thrumming with heat like he’s on fire like he’s stepped out into the sunlight. 

This is the closest that he’s felt to being alive in 50 years. 

Roger stares at him for a few moments as if that wasn’t the answer that he was expecting, his lips parted to expose his fangs, as pale as porcelain. His eyes are as wide as the moon, ablaze with flames in their pale depths and softened by his long lashes - and at that moment John is sure that Roger could do him no harm. He looks so soft that surely Roger couldn’t do John any harm, John thinks. 

John leans forward slowly, something hot and desperate buzzing under his skin. The first few dregs of daylight are fighting their way through the cheap hotel curtains as Roger adjusts his hold on John’s sweater, loosening his hands so that they’re less holding him there, more like Roger is desperately clinging to him. John steps back, Roger following with him like the moon, until John’s knees knock against the mattress and they tumble backwards onto it together, bouncing and bumping into each other as the springs squeak obscenely.

They are not the first to have had the same kind of revelation in this particular hotel room it seems.

They’re so close that John moves on instinct and runs his teeth down the column of Roger’s neck, feeling the way Roger’s quivering with the tiniest movements beneath him. The skin here is so thin, so delicate and intimate that John can almost understand the attraction for doing this with a human. 

Bloodsucking wasn’t always sexual but between a consenting Vampire and human pair, it could be, in fact, the only time that Vampires could experience this kind of gratification. But despite this Roger seems to be enjoying it, pressing closer and letting out quiet little gasps. 

Even to John, it seems strange. This was purely an act between vampire and human but between two vampires… he gives himself a mental shake. What does it matter, anyway?

‘You’d like me to do it wouldn’t you, Rog? To bite down on your neck and drain you like a human?’ He says, testing the water a little to see what Roger’s reaction will be. There’s always been something unspoken between them that's closer than friends that they'd never acknowledged, a yearning that afflicted their kind but once in an eternity.

The response is quick enough, Roger is already groaning and shivering beneath John’s palms like he’s just seen a human with a stake. Roger moves closer, pressing himself even closer so that John can smell his cologne - citrus and spicy, like driving with the roof down on a sunny day. There is no hint of mustiness nor of blood because Roger is no crumbling ancient one. 

Despite their occasional disagreements, despite Roger’s resentment, deep down John knows that they’re the same - different from the old coffin fillers around them. John feels hot all over, his body tickling with flames and his cock practically begging for attention, a throbbing need that’s getting more difficult to ignore. But most of all he wants Roger, John realises, pretty as a picture beneath him. He wants to make Roger feel good, to draw all of those noises out of Roger, to bring Roger to the brink pleasure over and over again. John wants all of him. 

‘Yes, I… I want it… please,’ Roger says desperately and if he were human John imagines that Roger would be panting, breathless. ‘Mark me…,’ Roger sobs like the sounds are being forcibly pulled out of him. 

John scrapes his teeth a little harder against Roger’s fragile skin in response, before lathing the spot with his tongue in apology as if he’s soothing the hurt. 

‘Do you want everyone to know who you belong to?’ John asks, his mouth going dry. He almost feels like he’s in a dream - he can’t believe that he’s saying these things. He’s always had a sharp tongue despite his shy nature and general anxiety, but not in this _way_. ‘How embarrassing.’ 

Roger moans again, more breathily this time, tilting his head further back to give John better access to his throat. 

‘Mhmm, yes... please... John. Everyone will know what I’m really like,’ Roger says, his eyes staring down at John half-lidded and his fangs sinking dangerously into his lower lip. He certainly looks like a sight, so pretty and debauched, his hair gently mussed and his eyes wild. ‘I need more, John. Please. It’s not enough. Take it all.’

‘Rog,’ John hisses, pulling away from Roger a few scant inches. ‘You know I can’t, right? You’re not… you don’t have any blood and I don’t want to hurt you.’

Beneath him, Roger groans, shifting so that his thighs are squeezing around John’s as Roger moves his hips, desperately, as if he’s trying to find some kind of friction. 

‘Shit, I don’t care,’ Roger sighs before laughing, always finding the humour in every situation. ‘Thanks for ruining the mood though. Just bite me… don’t make me say please.’

‘But it won’t… Roger, it can only be done between Vampires and humans.’ It’s not that John’s reluctant exactly, or at least not for reasons of tradition. Even though he knows Roger’s veins are dead and empty, that his heart is still in his chest, Johns still can’t deny that Roger’s neck is appealing - pale and slender and elegant, paired with Roger’s neediness and John’s salivating.

‘Just… John…,’ Roger huffs, ‘just get on with it.’ Then John feels something brushing against the front of his trousers, up and down over the length of his cock. 

The flames that have been simmering beneath his skin burst into a full-fledged inferno. It’s a kind of thrill, the life-but-close-to-death adrenaline rush that being close to fire always brings, as John reaches down to unzip his sensible jeans, pushing them and his boxers down just far enough for his cock to spring free. Roger’s hands are already on him, large and talented as ever, slicking him up with… well, it certainly feels like lube. John cracks his eyes open again long enough to see that Roger’s hands are indeed slick with lube and the tube, laying discarded on top of the sheets, isn’t one that he recognises.

‘You arse! Did you bring that ‘specially? You’re such a nuisance, Rog,’ John sighs, thrusting desperately into Roger’s hand. Roger’s palm is cool and firm against John’s cock and Roger’s grip firm exactly how John prefers, and yet as much as John thrusts his hips his cock stays soft and flaccid. ‘It’s not going to work, fuck. I don’t have any blood to get hard.’

‘Well, that’s an unusual problem for you. Normally I can’t keep you hard for long enough. I should’ve brought a carton of soy for you, Chosen One,’ Roger laughs. John glances up at him, now that they’re a little more separated, taking in how dark Roger’s eyes have gone like he’s ready for the hunt. ‘Please. I don’t give a shit if we’re getting off or not. Please I just need it, need you.’

‘Fine… fine… fuck, I’ll…,’ John fumbles, his usually sharp tongue gone slack. Roger’s neck is truly tempting, a pale column that the Ancient Greeks would be proud of, a true work of art. And John is finding it harder to resist. 

As John sinks his teeth into Roger’s flesh, he moans despite the wrongness of it. Even John, who’s never feasted on prey before, can tell that it’s not right - that there should be a fountain of blood now, filling John’s mouth as they both orgasmed. Instead, there’s a desperate kind of heat still pooling low in John’s gut, hot and persistent, like an itch that’s begging to be scratched.

It’s wrong but John wouldn’t change it because as he draws back as licks gently over the wounds as if he can soothe them, Roger’s cologne hits him again and John can’t help but glance up at Roger’s face - his pretty eyes screwed shut and his eyelashes feathered across his soft skin, his mouth parted in pleasure and his fangs like two pearls. The heat is more intense than ever and all John can do is stare at Roger, take in every inch of him and thrust desperately against his hand. 

It’s not a release in a traditional sense, a human sense.

As much as John tries to deny what he is, pushes it away to the back of his mind, he knows what he is. They roll together until the sun has risen over the horizon and the town is just starting to wake up with the laziness of immortals. Time for them is overabundant, ripe fruit falling from the tree and turning rotten as it’s picked apart by flies. 

And when they finally fall apart from each other, two beings again, neither pants and neither’s heart races. They are unmoving beings and the desire drains from them, back to kindling that’s ready to be burnt in the back of John’s mind. 

It’s not quite satisfaction but it’s also not quite hunger.

**Author's Note:**

> if there's any mistakes or inconsistencies then uh a vampire did it. this is quite possibly the least sexy thing ive ever written.


End file.
